


Return Policy

by shrift



Series: Yuletide Fanworks [23]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: F/F, So Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 19:17:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17028462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrift/pseuds/shrift
Summary: In which Debbie makes a gesture.





	Return Policy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ifeelbetter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifeelbetter/gifts).



> Beta by Nestra.

Lou got distracted in bookstores, and Debbie was mature enough to realize that she tended to act impulsively when she didn't have Lou's full attention. It didn't stop her from doing impulsive things, but at least she was honest with herself about it. Which is why she tossed a book down on the counter in front of a wide-eyed employee at the register when Lou wasn't looking.

"I'd like to return this," she said, tapping the book with her index finger.

"Do you have a receipt?" the employee asked. Her name tag read Madison, her hair was dyed gray, and her shirt couldn't decide if it was lace or crepe.

"I do not have the receipt, Madison," Debbie said. "And do you know why?"

Madison looked around as if the immediate surroundings would grant her a lifeline. "No?"

"Because my boyfriend bought me this book for my birthday. My now ex-boyfriend. Do you think a man who buys a copy of The Fountainhead for his girlfriend is going to include a gift receipt? Do you?"

"I don't know. I haven't read it?" Madison offered.

"Oh," Debbie said with genuine feeling, and pressed her hand over her heart. "I hope you never do. Doubly so if it's for a boy. Promise me you won't."

"Um," Madison said. "Okay? If you don't have the receipt, I can't give you cash. I could maybe do store credit if you want?"

Noticing that Lou was approaching with an armload of books, Debbie said, "You know what, it's fine. I'll just take it with me."

Lou glanced at her as she put her books down on the counter, but didn't say anything until they were out of the store. "Are you bored? Do I need to feed you pierogi?"

"The answer to your second question is always yes," Debbie said as she pitched The Fountainhead into the trash bin where it belonged.

"If it ever isn't, I'll worry," Lou said.

Nine Ball was lounging on a couch with her laptop and waved at them idly when they got home. The crew still tended to hang out at Lou's when they were in town, although Tammy usually was off doing the family thing in her McMansion and Amita was swanning around Europe. Rose came by with desserts and questions, like a bread and butter pudding and, "How exactly do I get my passport out of impound?" Daphne only occasionally swept in wearing increasingly ridiculous pairs of sunglasses and the confidence of having fuck-you money.

Lou did make pierogi, potato with caramelized onion. Debbie pulled up a stool and watched her with a generous pour of wine in one hand and her phone in another.

"We could steal a Georgia O'Keeffe," Debbie mused.

"Little on the nose, don't you think?" Lou said, her face working like she was trying very hard not to smile.

"Joan Mitchell, then."

Lou made a face as she pinched dough. "She's so hit or miss for me."

"Well, we're not stealing it so we can hang it up here," Debbie said. She glanced around the place. "Although, you know, we could use a pop of color in here."

"Steal something by Yayoi Kusama, then," Lou said.

Debbie grinned. "You want a pumpkin, pumpkin?"

"I don't even know why you're thinking about art. You know how I feel about stealing from museums," Lou said.

"Oh, I wasn't thinking museums. I was thinking about finding someone I don't like who has something I do like," Debbie said.

Lou pointed at with with the spatula. "Now you're talking."

When the pierogi was done, Lou slid a plate in front of her, slapped down a fork, and smooched her forehead. "There, happy?"

Debbie smiled. "Thank you, baby."

It was delicious. Debbie ate all of it and thought about licking the plate. Lou was reading, so Debbie opted to just steal some pierogi from her plate.

"Maybe I should only eat your food from now on," Debbie said.

Lou didn't look up from her book. "Is _that_ a proposal?"

"Do you want it to be a proposal?"

"I want you not to talk to me when I'm reading," Lou said.

"Fair," Debbie said.

* * *

"Hey, Amita," Debbie said when Amita answered her call. "I know you're in Paris doing things your mother doesn't approve of --"

"-- Things she will _never_ know about," Amita interrupted.

"My lips are sealed, I promise. I'm calling because I need a ring."

There was a long pause, and then Amita said in a hushed tone, "Should we be discussing this on the phone?"

"No, no," Debbie said. "I want to purchase a ring for a specific person. With my own money."

Lou didn't like gifts that were stolen. Apparently she thought buying things meant more because it took more of an effort, whereas Debbie preferred not to leave a paper trail that indicated she was able to afford very expensive purchases when she had very little income according to her tax filings.

But, well. Sometimes needs must.

"Ooh," Amita said.

"So I'm calling my friend the jeweler for her professional advice."

"Oh, my god. Who's the ring _for_?"

Debbie sighed. "You know who it's for."

"I know who it had better be for," Amita said.

"It's not that kind of ring," Debbie said.

Amita made a very rude and loud noise of disbelief. Debbie had to pull the phone away from her ear for a moment.

"It's not _not_ that kind of ring. Are you helping me or not?"

"What's wrong with you? Of course I'm helping. Do you know what you want? Like, are we talking serious bling, or something vintage?"

It was tempting to buy an outrageously expensive diamond with a princess cut just to see Lou's face, but Debbie disliked wasting money more than she liked pulling Lou's pigtails.

"Maybe something vintage-inspired, but something nobody has ever worn before. Something just for her," Debbie said.

Amita made a humming noise. "Okay. I can work with that. Let me do some research and get back to you."

"Sorry I'm making you work on vacation. Are you having fun?" Debbie asked.

"I haven't had my meet-cute in the Louvre yet, but the men are handsome and louche, and the pastry is fantastic," Amita said.

"Have you been to the Louvre? That's an important part of the meet-cute."

"Of course I have. Not as much as you went to The Met, but I took a photo of all the other tourists taking a photo of the Mona Lisa, and then I accidentally started casing the joint like I was planning on stealing something."

"I feel so proud of you right now," Debbie said.

"You're a terrible influence," Amita said. "And I really shouldn't have said all that on the phone. Crap."

* * *

Lou liked to chew gum, and Debbie had a habit of holding her hand under Lou's chin for Lou to spit it out. Lou usually went along with it because she knew it meant Debbie wanted to kiss her. And Debbie wasn't going to kiss her until the coast was clear, because you kiss a girl chewing wasabi gumballs one time and you learn your lesson.

Lou took the gum out of her mouth and tossed it into the trash, so Debbie kissed her.

"I don't like your lipstick," Lou said in between kisses, her eyelids low and her mouth minty.

Debbie smiled. "I know."

"I mean, it looks great now, but you end up looking like the Joker when I make out with you," Lou said. 

"I know." Debbie pulled a packet of travel makeup wipes from her pocket and tapped them against Lou's cheek. "I came prepared."

Lou chased after Debbie's mouth. "Who's designing this shit, anyway?"

Debbie made a low noise as Lou did indecent things to her with her tongue. "Stop talking."

Constance and Nine Ball walked past the room they were in. Debbie heard the squeak of Converse as Constance stopped in her tracks. She did a shockingly poor moonwalk back to the doorway to stare down Debbie and Lou. "Oh, damn. You smashing?"

"Smashing?" Debbie said. "What's happening, you're suddenly British now?"

Lou, clearly not buying that Debbie couldn't pick up context clues, smiled and said, "I'll show you how to look things up on Urban Dictionary later, honey."

Constance stared at them for a long moment, then threw up two fingers and said, "Peace!"

Nine Ball laughed as she watched Constance walk out the door. "She gonna put that on YouTube."

"What?" Lou said. She was scrubbing at the smudges of lipstick on her mouth with a makeup wipe.

"She's been talking about her moms on her channel," Nine Ball said. She pulled out her phone and tapped for few seconds, and then held it out. "Look."

They leaned in to watch a video of Constance chattering about how she had not one but two hot moms and how epic they were while she skateboarded around Queens and nearly took out a hipster with a man bun and a chihuahua.

"I'm confused and also flattered," Debbie said.

Lou made her irritated face. "I think we need to talk to Constance about her footprint."

Nine Ball shook her head. "We were supposed to get lunch. She so weird."

"I hope you weren't letting her choose the restaurant," Debbie said. "You want to eat lunch with us? My treat."

Nine Ball raised her eyebrows. "You paying?"

"I have money now," Debbie protested.

"You might wanna fix that first," Nine Ball said, waving her hand at Debbie's mouth.

Debbie covered her mouth. "Shit."

Amused, Lou said, "I would have said something before we left."

They'd learned the hard way that there weren't any restaurants worth eating at nearby, so Nine Ball stalked down some food trucks in the vicinity rather than ordering from Seamless. Lou always liked to try the fusion cuisine trucks, Nine Ball got curry goat if it was on a menu, and Debbie hit up the Greek truck even though she knew the pita was going to lose all structural integrity.

"We could steal a yacht," Lou said on the way back from lunch, hooking her arm around Debbie's.

Debbie shook her head. "Yeah, we also could steal a Mars Rover, but what are we going to do with it?"

Nine Ball perked up. "We could make the Mars Rover sing something."

"No stealing things that would make scientists sad," Debbie said.

"Why no to the yacht, though?" Nine Ball asked.

"International waters. Could be nice," Lou said.

"No boats," Debbie said. "Boats are not to be trusted."

* * *

Debbie wasn't much for clubs these days, but she liked being around when Lou wore leather pants because of how they made her walk, so she tagged along one evening when Lou went to work.

"You could sell this place, you know," Debbie said as Lou led her downstairs into the basement.

"I could," Lou said.

"But you won't."

Lou shrugged, "Selling alcohol is easy money."

"Jon Taffer would beg to differ with you," Debbie said as she carefully picked her way around boxes stacked on the stairs.

Lou laughed, and all her employees downstairs looked up from what they were doing like prairie dogs. Lou instructed them to keep pouring.

"What are they watering down tonight?" Debbie asked.

"Gin." Lou sat down on some boxes of liquor and patted the box next to her, so Debbie took a seat.

Debbie wrinkled her nose at all the open bottles of Beefeater. "Delightful."

"Why don't I hear pouring?" Lou asked even though she had her eyes on a magazine.

Everyone immediately started pouring again, but it was clear that no one was paying attention to the rerun of Law & Order: SVU, especially the cute girl in the beanie.

Debbie leaned into Lou and whispered, "Why is everyone staring?"

Lou eyed her. "Probably because I've never brought anyone down here before."

"I feel special," Debbie said. "Nobody?"

Lou shrugged. "It's been a while. I think they think I live like a monk."

"I'm feeling the urge to disabuse them of that notion," Debbie said. She slid her hand to the small of Lou's back and leaned in for a kiss.

Lou swatted at her gently with the magazine. "This is a place of business."

"Mm-hmm," Debbie said and kissed her again, sliding her other hand up the silky sleeve of Lou's jacket to cup her jaw. Lou made a quiet groaning noise that made Debbie want to take her somewhere private and do something about it. She pulled back and rubbed her thumb over Lou's wet bottom lip when a squeaking noise caught their attention.

The cute girl in the beanie looked like she was experiencing a revelation.

"April, I don't pay you to stand around with your mouth open," Lou said. She tugged at Debbie's hand. "Let's go upstairs. I'll buy you a drink."

"I'll follow you," Debbie said with an expression on her face that one could characterize as a leer. A classy leer.

Lou tucked her thumbs in the belt loops of her leather pants and looked smug. "I know what you're doing."

"I should hope so," Debbie said.

* * *

Amita had found her some high-end jewelry designers who took commissions, and Debbie started with, "I don't know, make something that looks like David Bowie, Patti Smith, and Joan Jett somehow had a baby." And then had taken a lot of surreptitious pictures of Lou's wardrobe, accessories, and weird mask collection whenever Lou was out of the house. 

It took weeks of back and forth until one of them had designed something that Debbie would never wear but was perfect for Lou. And then Debbie kept it tucked into a drawer for another few weeks until the next time they were alone and dining on Chinese take-out.

"I got you something. There's even a receipt this time if you don't like it," Debbie said, and pushed the small box across the table with her chopsticks before taking off the paper sleeve and breaking them apart.

After some hesitation, Lou put down her egg roll and wiped off her hands before she took the box. "What is it?"

"Open it," Debbie said.

Lou opened the box and stared at the ring for a while, which made Debbie twitch.

"I didn't lie about the receipt, but it's custom-made and I don't think they'll accept returns."

"Shut up. I love it," Lou said.

"I'm sorry I trusted the wrong person," Debbie said.

"Yeah, well," Lou said, swallowing hard. "Don't do it again."

Debbie didn't like it when Lou was mad at her. Really mad, not just outraged mad like when Debbie asked her why she was listening to opera and Lou spluttered about how she couldn't possibly be in love with someone who wasn't familiar with Freddie Mercury's oeuvre.

When Lou was really mad at her, she stopped talking to Debbie, and it was one of the worst feelings in the world. About as bad as sitting in an interrogation room and knowing she was going to prison.

"You should choose the next job we do," Debbie said.

Lou smiled and leaned closer. "Oh, so you're _letting_ me choose?"

In an avoidance attempt, Debbie waved at the ring. "Come on. Are you putting that thing on or not?"

"How do you feel about stealing a limited edition motorcycle?" Lou asked. She took the ring out of the box and slid it on her finger.

"Ugh," Debbie said, because Lou knew how she felt about motor vehicles in general and motorcycles in particular. "Fine, if that's what you want."

Lou kissed her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby."


End file.
